The Only One Left
by Arthur88
Summary: While Arthur Cousland races from one end of Ferelden to the other fighting the darkspawn, what is his older brother up to? A look at Fergus Cousland's actions during the Blight, set during the Fereldan Rebellion as the Bannorn fight Loghain's tyranny.
1. Chapter 1

_As I've mentioned in my main story, this is just a short story born from my own interest as to what Fergus Cousland is up to while his little brother runs around, trying to save Ferelden, not to mention an attempt to expand upon the rebellion in the Bannorn, which was, frankly, left woefully underdeveloped during the game. This is highly speculative, since all we have to go on about the rebellion, as far as I'm aware, is the gossip that Bodahn and other rumour-mongers give you, so what actually happens in the rebellion (who wins, who loses, who's telling the truth) is fairly open to interpretation. This is just my own humble take on these events, based on what little canon there is to go on. The basic gist of what's likely to happen in this story can be found in the section set amongst the rebels in Chapter 36._

_This is set in the same universe as __**From the Ashes**__, and chronologically is set at the same time as Chapter 40 onwards. Most of this will be from Fergus Cousland's POV, though there are some other familiar faces (and some new ones) make appearances: for instance, in this first chapter, I've made my own attempt to deal with something that bugged me in game (namely why Loghain, after spending nearly the whole story claiming it's not a Blight, makes an abrupt U-turn come the Landsmeet and proclaims that it __**is**__ a Blight after all, so I wanted to try and create the moment where he is forced to eat his words). Similar moments will appear in this._

_This whole thing should be about four chapters overall, so providing my writer's block doesn't delay it overlong, this should be done by early January and we'll be back to __**From The Ashes**__, and the build-up to and the Landsmeet itself and the final battle (two of my favourite parts) as I intend for this to tie up into the current point where I am in __**From the Ashes.**_

_I hope you enjoy this little offshoot from my current story._

_With the exception of my own embellishments, all content belongs to Bioware: sadly, I don't own Dragon Age._

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_'I choose the path of war because it is the only one left to me'_-Anonymous

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_**A rebel camp on the North Road, twenty miles outside the city of Highever**_

"Are you alright, milord?"

"Alright?" Fergus Cousland muttered to himself than the soldier from South Reach addressing him. _'No, I'm not alright. And I'm not sure I ever will be'._

"You're not at the meeting. Arl Bryland's called a council of war; should be the last one before we reach the city. He's asked me to escort-"

"It's fine, soldier. I'll find my own way there" Fergus waved aside the knight's company, preferring to keep his own thoughts. Granted, he was not the only one to lose something in this war, but the sheer senselessness of it, that for the sake of one vain, greedy man's ambition, everything that he'd held dear had been cruelly snatched away.

Little more than five months ago, he'd been a husband, a father and heir to one of the most prominent titles in all of Ferelden. Now what was he? A widower, an orphan, a wanted traitor to his homeland and a near-cripple, a husk of the man he'd once been.

'_That way lies madness'_.

His mind turned him away from that line of thought; he had more than enough in need of his attention that stopped him from brooding too much on it. Not that he hadn't tried.

He still felt that part of him had died, forever lost with Oriana and Oren when he heard the news, not long after he had emerged from the Korcari Wilds, delirious and sick, along with the handful of men from Highever who'd survived the Wilds and the tattered remnants of the Storm Crows, still severely ill from the festering wounds the darkspawn had inflicted, only to discover that he had no home to return to, no family waiting eagerly for his return. The tales of the survivors he'd encountered and the rumours he'd heard all said the same: Rendon Howe and his thugs had shown no mercy, slaughtering men, women and children indiscriminately. His parents, his little brother, his beloved wife and son...all gone, their murders, along with those of all their household brushed aside as just punishment for a treason that Fergus _knew_ to be a pathetic lie. His parents had grown up knowing the oppression and tyranny of Orlesian rule, had spent much of their youth fighting to free Ferelden. Bryce and Eleanor Cousland would _never_ have conspired to return them to power.

And if that was a lie, what of the other justifications that Loghain and Howe used to explain away their ever-increasing brutality and tyranny? The Grey Wardens nothing more than Orlesian pawns paving the way for a new conquest of Fereldan? King Cailan dead from their machinations? The Blight just a hoax, concocted to allow Orlesian troops across the border? It was either madness or carefully calculated deception; either way, Fergus knew that travelling to Denerim to openly protest his family's innocence and demand justice would end with his neck beneath the executioner's blade.

_Not that I'd get there if I tried_, he thought bitterly as another surge of pain shot through his hip, more physical evidence of how the traitors who'd taken _everything _from him were not content to just murder everyone he held dear; no, his life was to be ended as well, his blood spilled in the name of their ambition.

Upon his arrival at Ostagar all those months ago, Loghain himself had given Fergus his orders; to scout a canyon to the south that the latest reports had begun to suggest the darkspawn were advancing into the area, looking for another approach to the fortress. The teyrn had assured him that they wouldn't likely encounter more than a few scouts. Instead, the darkspawn had been lying in wait for them, thousands of the beasts, far more than even the significant number of men-at-arms Fergus had brought with him from Highever were prepared for.

Dozens of his men had perished in that ambush, but they'd managed to battle a disciplined retreat back towards Ostagar until darkspawn arrows had killed Fergus's horse from under him, the dying animal crushing Fergus beneath its weight as it fell, breaking his hip and leaving him easy prey for just about every darkspawn not trying to butcher as many of his soldiers as possible, not to mention the sight of their lord being brought down serving to break the already-failing morale of his men, turning the retreat into a rout. There were times when it was hard to say which horrific scene he saw when he closed his eyes was more terrible: the sight of his wife and child being hacked down as he stood there helpless to intervene, or the memory of that monster clambering over his horse's body, its long narrow face split into that horrible rictus grin, those pale eyes staring at him hungrily, that horrible shrieking ringing in his ears as those long-clawed hands reached for his throat...

Some might say his survival was an act of divine providence, proof the Maker was watching over him. Fergus responded to such thoughts with a derisive snort; if the Maker was watching over him, He would have heeded Fergus's prayers to keep his wife and child safe until his return. The Maker hadn't saved him; a Chasind spear through that shrieking darkspawn's chest had saved him. Had Marek and his hunters not been drawn to the sound of battle, had the Chasind clansmen not been willing to lead the remnants of his battalion through the swamp to the safety of their camp, had the old witch not been willing to heal their injuries...things might have been very different.

Even with a barely healed hip that still caused him to walk with a pronounced limp and made riding a horse all but impossible for the moment, Fergus had almost gone anyway, just on the chance that he could gut Rendon Howe and Loghain like the vermin they were before being brought low himself, but in the end, the duty that had been drilled into him since childhood had superseded his fury for the moment. He was now the Teyrn of Highever, and losing his life for the sake of vengeance would neither disprove the lies that Howe had spread about his family nor free the people of Highever from the rule of the usurper.

Just how he was supposed to accomplish either of those ends, aided by just under a score of Chasind warriors and the haggard old woman who served as the clan's shaman, not to mention the meagre remnants of his own forces, was something that he had not easily envisioned. Fortunately, they had not been alone long; as the Storm Crows and other Chasind clans fled north, driven out of their homeland by the horde, emboldened by its victory at Ostagar, and pressed on into Ferelden, they fell in with other forces of the Bannorn, bands of ragged survivors from Ostagar or soldiers displaced by the darkspawn or Loghain's deranged and brutal efforts to bring the nobility to heel. Quite by chance, his rag-tag group had crossed paths with Leonas Bryland's forces as they fled South Reach in the wake of the darkspawn's onslaught, and Fergus had found himself forming an alliance with the Arl's greater army, if only so that he would not have the sole burden of supplying and provisioning the forces he found himself in command of.

A steady stream of men had fallen in with them as their forces advanced further into the lands of the Bannorn, many of whom were appalled by Loghain's heavy handed attempts at bringing the nobility under control and suppressing any questions about his version of the events at Ostagar, not to mention the extreme violence to which the regent was resorting as his demands were refused.

Fergus had been gratified to hear that few believed Howe's accusations of treason, and surprised when he found himself increasingly deferred to as the leader of the ragtag group of rebels, surpassed in authority only by Arl Bryland, and Fergus was more than willing to defer to the Arl's greater knowledge of warfare and military tactics-after all, only a handful of men had survived and managed to escape the disastrous Battle of White River, which spoke a great deal about his grasp of how to evade and outwit a determined enemy. Now, more than ever, Fergus found himself glad of the time he'd spent training with the guard and listening to his father and Howe talk about their experiences fighting in the rebellion against the Orlesians, how the hit-and-run tactics of small units of guerrilla fighters familiar with the terrain had yielded good results against the better equipped but highly regimented Orlesian army. Kill the officers at the start, Bryce Cousland had said, and you threw the rank-and-file into chaos.

Thirty years on, it seemed that Loghain had forgotten the tactics that had won that war. The units out of Denerim were highly disciplined, well-equipped and skilled in traditional military tactics, even though most appeared to be conscripts hastily given the basics of training and then rushed into the field, but the guerrilla tactics of the rebels- ambushes, night raids and sabotage by small groups that struck and withdrew back into the countryside- left them reeling. They would rush reinforcements into place, only to have the rebels attack the area they had taken the reinforcements from, making off with supplies-food, weapons and medical resources- that could not be easily replaced. Initially, the rebels had at all costs tried to avoid open battle. What Bryland planned was their first attempt at conventional warfare, which was why he was making every effort to ensure they achieved their goal.

For weeks beforehand, the rebels had sent small raiding parties in all directions, attacking the larger towns and villages and forcing the nearest city –Highever- to respond by sending out ever greater numbers of its garrison to protect the outlying settlements, with the result that the city was now heavily undermanned. Fergus used these depredations as much as possible to provision his forces; with the Blight spreading across the south of Ferelden, not to mention the onset of winter, the flood of refugees and countless fields destroyed before they could be harvested meant that food was already scarce, and it was likely to get worse, hence why he was trying to assail only the larger settlements; he had no wish to hurt his own people by taking food from those unable to feed themselves. Even though the worst of the winter was over, and spring approaching, it was doubtful that there'd be a harvest in the coming summer, not when the fertile farmlands from which the bulk of Ferelden's food was grown were abandoned, untilled, unsown and being slowly despoiled by an enemy devoutly committed to destruction.

Reports from the ever-dwindling numbers of survivors fleeing from the embattled southern regions of Ferelden reported that the darkspawn, who had for a few months been relatively inactive, so indolent that Fergus had heard many at court were celebrating the Blight's end, were now back with a vengeance. No one could explain what had incited this new surge of aggression amongst the horde, but whatever it was, it had also exerted a change in their behaviour. There was no looting or pillaging in the raids now, just wholesale destruction; farmsteads and villages razed to the ground, crops burned or despoiled, livestock butchered and anyone unable to get out of the horde's path put to the sword. More than once, the rebels had had encounters with darkspawn as well; mostly more of the gangly, shrieking creatures that haunted Fergus's nightmares, though they seemed shy of engaging, fighting only when cornered. _'Scouts, checking out the land and what forces stand in the horde's way'_ he suspected.

Time had been fast pressing him into a hard decision: continue to resist the rule of one that he believed complicit in the murder of his family and the death of his King, or concede a truce to present a united front against the darkspawn, since Loghain seemed determined to force the Bannorn to their knees before he even attempted to deal with what he still claimed was not a Blight. And then, one of the scouts who'd been checking out a nearby village in the path of the rebel advance came back bearing a sheaf of parchment that had been nailed to the door of a tavern, that had made Fergus feel a speak of hope he'd thought lost forever.

He was not alone.

From Bryland's men and other Bannorn troops, Fergus had heard rumours of the two Grey Wardens who'd survived the massacre of their Order at Ostagar. He'd known of their existence, of course; from the bounties on their heads, it seemed that Loghain considered them to be a greater threat than the darkspawn, but the descriptions had mentioned only two young men travelling in the company of an Orlesian spy, a trio of Maleficarum (initially, it had been apostates, but the words had changed when the bounty had increased), a Qunari heathen and an Antivan assassin. Based on the frankly obscene amount of money being offered as a reward for them dead or alive, one would think they were roaming the countryside drinking the blood of virgins and sacrificing newborn babies to worship demons; he'd known _that_ was ridiculous, but when he began speaking to those who had actually met them...

The description of a young man with long, reddish-brown hair, ice-blue eyes and a distinctive facial tattoo matched his memory, and even if the fearsome warrior they spoke of bore little resemblance to the joking little brother with an eye for the ladies and a penchant for getting into trouble, he was using his own name. And the presence of the mabari sealed it; Edward would be with no one else. Fergus had heard of Duncan's interest in his brother, as well as Father's refusal, but evidently, matters had changed when Howe's men had overwhelmed the near-defenceless castle.

Joy, relief and worry filled him in near equal measures, along with an empathy that made his heart ache. Arthur had to think all of his family dead, and Fergus knew well enough how deeply that sorrow cut. The urge to set out and find his brother was all but overwhelming, but whatever he and his companions were doing, they stayed on the move, and Fergus had absolutely no way to predict their movements. He had reports of them in Lothering, Honnleath, Redcliffe (where, if the stories were to be believed, they'd brought Arl Eamon back from the brink of death with nothing less than the Ashes of Andraste herself); here and there in the Bannorn, fighting darkspawn and bandits, Denerim, where he had apparently made Rendon Howe and the City Guard look like bumbling fools, given the ease with which the Wardens and their allies had evaded capture, destroying an army of demons let loose by a mad blood mage in Loghain's service at Kinloch Hold, saving a Dalish clan from rampaging werewolves in the Brecilian forest...

He had no idea where his brother would be next, the last reports they'd received putting Arthur and his companions en route to Gherlen Pass and Orzammar weeks ago. He had no chance of arranging matters so that their paths intersected, but Arthur had to be acting on Grey Warden business and despite Loghain's accusations, Fergus very much doubted it was anything to do with Orlais. Rumours had the Fereldan Circle of Magi and the Chantry revoking their support for Loghain and allying with the Grey Wardens, and there had been word that the Dalish were gathering in the south; word from the east stated that the Dalish clans had completely blockaded the land routes through the Brecilian Forest to Gwaren, leading to widespread riots and panic in Loghain's own terynir, which by all reports the regent was doing nothing about. Somehow, Arthur and his companions were gathering allies against the Blight, as Grey Wardens had always done, striking at both the darkspawn and traitors...

He'd shifted his tactics. Despite wanting desperately for Arthur to know that he was still alive, Fergus realized that it was more important than ever to keep his survival hidden from Loghain. If the regent knew that a Cousland was part of the rebellion in the Bannorn, the brothers would become an even more important target, as a hostage to the other's surrender. Fergus was a firm believer in what history said: the Grey Wardens were the only ones who could slay an Archdemon and end a Blight. He had to buy his brother the time to do what he needed to, and at the same time, fight the lies that Loghain was spreading. So they'd increased their raids, doubled their efforts to wreak havoc on Loghain's machinations, since if the usurper would be less inclined to persecute Grey Wardens when a more immediate threat to the stability he was trying to enforce was running amok. While they still harried Loghain's forces up until the winter had truly set in, depriving them of needed food and supplies, they had also begun to lead sorties against the encroaching darkspawn, killing the scouts and raiding parties they encountered, coming to the aid of those trying desperately to escape the Blight, and when the rebels went into battle, it was with the warcry of "For Ferelden! For the Grey Wardens!" on their lips.

It was barely enough, and nowhere near what his brotherly instinct was demanding of him, but the sons of Bryce Cousland had both been schooled in duty, and right now, that duty was taking them in different directions.

He glanced up at the sky as he approached the tent; the clouds overhead were low, flat and grey. Mornings found the world coated in a shimmering layer of frost; the worst of the winter snows were behind them, nowhere near as bad as they still were in the more mountainous western and southern territories of Ferelden, but the winter chill still hung heavily in the air, the cold cutting to the bone at times. Initially, they and their enemy had dug in to ride out the worst of the winter, but as spring began to draw near, the rebels had exploded back to life, attacking every settlement within reach of their hidden base to resupply their resources, but the meagre provisions they'd been able to secure were not enough. '_I wonder how much longer we can last'_ Fergus thought grimly. If what they planned failed, then the dwindling resources available in the Bannorn thanks to Loghain's insanity and the darkspawn's depredations would no longer be able to sustain the rebels much longer, and Fergus had no wish to contemplate the possibility of being forced into a surrender.

"Ah, Fergus" Leonas Bryland looked up from the array of maps, quartermaster's accounts, scout reports, military documents and the myriad other papers that cluttered the table set in the middle of the tent as one of his men-at-arms pulled aside the entrance flap to allow Fergus entry. A cluster of other men and women-various Arls and Banns who'd thrown in their lot with the rebels, sick of Loghain's demands they kow-tow to his authority and his brutal reprisals when they refused, as well as captains and lieutenants of the rebellion, all of whom nodded respectfully to him as he entered. "As I'm sure you are aware, we are close to your home now, close to taking back what is rightfully yours, and striking a major blow against the tyrant who sits on the throne in Denerim!"

"And just how do we intend to do that?" one of the Arl's captains, a burly, moustached man in heavy chainmail, a greatsword strapped to his back, its hilt visible above his shoulder. "With respect, my lord, we do not have the weapons or numbers that would enable us to mount a siege-"

"Based on what I know of the city's defences and which Fergus and my scouts confirm, Ser Lawrence, we will not need to lay siege to Highever. Make your report" the Arl remarked to the individual stood at the centre of the room: a young elven man dressed in the simple clothes one would expect. It was an old military tactic from the days of the rebellion, using elves as scouts. Since elves were a ubiquitous part of any city's population, and most humans paid as much attention to elves running about as they did to the pigeons on the rafters, it made it easy for them to move into unobtrusive places where they could eavesdrop, accruing important information without drawing undue attention. It had served Fereldan fighters well against the Orlesians, and it still did now.

"Highever is in a state of chaos. There's heavy rioting, widespread starvation and a great sense of anger towards the Howe family; many are calling for Teyrn Howe to be tried and executed for murder and treason, and one of Teyrn Cousland's line restored to rule, not to mention the ruling lord has done little but oppress the people; he forces them to pay exorbitant amounts for bread and other basics, and increases taxation when they refuse, on common folk and nobles alike; the amount of hate and , it's only a matter of time before the city rises up from beneath him. The city streets are all but deserted; most of the garrison have retreated to the castle until the troubles have died down-"

'_Perhaps we could use that'_ Fergus thought '_stoke the fires of revolt in the city. If the garrison are already preoccupied trying to put down rioters, they'll find it much harder to deal with a full-scale attack at the same time...'_

"Who commands the city?" Bann Cedric, son and heir to the late Bann Bronach, slain by Loghain at the battle of Winter's Breath, an act for which the youth intended to repay the usurper in blood.

"Thomas Howe rules Highever in his father's name" the elven scout replied and Bryland let out a snort.

"If that's true, then our battle is all but won. Thomas Howe is a libertine and a wastrel who spends nearly every waking moment drunk and knows next to nothing of warfare or rule. The boy has all the worst qualities of his father without Rendon's intelligence or patience. He will flounder, fritter away the garrison trying to engage our skirmishers as they lead his forces on a merry dance, while our army takes the city with ease"

"How are we to do this?" Ser Lawrence pressed.

"I will explain more when we are closer to the city and our enemies will have less time to react to our strategy, for fear of spies" Arl Bryland replied. Fergus had to agree; considering the strategy he and Leonas had devised between them, the element of surprise was going to be critical. It was better as few people as possible knew, lest a loose tongue prove fatal.

"Now, is there any other business before we adjourn?"

"Aye, my lord" one of the sergeants, a slim, dark-haired woman in her thirties clad in splintmail armour, by the name of Maverlies interjected. Fergus didn't know what to make of her; granted, she was from Amaranthine, a fact that had earned her his distrust immediately, but she'd made plain her disgust for Rendon Howe's brutal methods and his condoning of the cruel and indiscriminately sadistic acts in his tenure as Arl that had earned Howe the nickname 'The Butcher of Denerim'-a feeling she claimed many officers and soldiers in that arling shared- and thus Arl Bryland had been willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, based on her skill at arms, calm in the face of danger and stern leadership, though Fergus made sure to keep a close watch on her, lest she prove untrustworthy.

"There was a rider in the night, bearing word from Iachus Valley". The statement drew the attention of all present in the tent; the rebels had abandoned their camp at the valley weeks ago, but Loghain had not deviated from his path, continuing to lead his army in that direction, thanks to misleading intelligence fed to his spies that the rebels were still encamped there.

"According to the scout's report, Loghain sent his cavalry into the valley under cover of darkness, thinking we were still encamped there and hoping to attack us . But by all accounts, they were lying in wait for him..."

"Who?" Bann Cedric questioned, considering that they'd heard no news of another rebel force of sufficient size to meet Loghain on the battlefield...

"Darkspawn" Maverlies replied. "Loghain's men were outnumbered three-to-one by the most trustworthy accounts. Hurlocks armed with pikes hit the cavalry as they charged, and then the 'spawn set alight the entrance to the valley with oil and pitch they'd laid out before to entrap them; not a single person who went into that valley came out. When he realised what was happening, Loghain ordered a full retreat back towards Denerim. By all accounts, he intends to withdraw to the city, to replace the men he lost and try to ascertain our present location" the sergeant concluded, before adding as an afterthought "I thought I should mention it, since according to the scout, Loghain's made certain to have heralds proclaim in every village he passes by on his way back to the capital how he claimed a narrow victory against the' treasonous rebels seeking to undermine Ferelden', no doubt hoping it will dissuade more from taking up arms against him". A ripple of angry and worried muttering went through the tent as Maverlies finished.

"If he returns before we are ready, then the city will be much harder to take by storm. The only forces protecting Denerim are the City Watch and the household guard Howe brought with him from Amaranthine" Bann Voldric intoned ominously. "Even if we succeed in taking Highever, if Loghain's forces, even diminished as they are, return to reinforce the capital's defences, then I am not sure it will be within our ability to take Denerim..."

"I agree, which is why I will be sending you, Voldric, along with Ser Artemis and Ser Lucian off with a thousand riders each. You will set the lands of Ceorlic, Grainne and any other Loghain sympathiser you cross afire until the smoke can be seen from Denerim". Fergus had to agree with the decision and many others nodded approvingly; Ceorlic was the most prominent of the nobles falling over themselves to lick Loghain's shoes, and Irwin had been the only one of the late Bann Grainne's relations spineless enough to be the regent's puppet after Loghain's men had murdered the man's aunt in her own home and he had unceremoniously seized her lands; few would care if their fortunes suffered for their allegiances.

"Loghain's actions have eroded his support to almost nothing. If he does nothing while the lands of the few remaining allies he has burn, they will abandon him and his forces will continue to diminish" Bryland replied. "He will have to decide which he values more highly: Denerim's safety, or ensuring the few allies he has do not grow enough of a spine to resist him. Considering if the reports are true and the darkspawn inflicted heavy casualties on his forces, Loghain will no doubt wish to ensure his allies, and their forces, remain loyal to him until he can replenish his ranks. Very well, council adjourned. We will reconvene once we arrive and the city is surrounded"

As the nobles and soldiers saluted respectfully and filed out, Leonas Bryland turned to Fergus in an offhand manner "I only wonder why Loghain would be so determined to hide his defeat..."

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_**Iachus Valley, southern Ferelden, several days earlier**_

"The scouts report movement within the valley still. People moving, torches, campfires; all the signs of a significant number of men encamped. Perhaps fewer than expected; the scouts couldn't be sure, visibility in the valley was very poor but they're certain the enemy is there" the captain of scouts reported to the imposing figure sat before him.

"Good, order the cavalry to prepare for the initial attack, and sound assembly for the infantry; once the mounted attack sows chaos and confusion amongst these traitors, I want to capitalise on it. One way or another, these dissidents will be broken and bought to heel; this outrageous rebellion ends tonight!"

"It will be done, my lord" the captain replied, saluting his commander and striding out of the tent to relay the command. Cauthrien tensed up as Loghain got to his feet, keeping one hand close to the hilt of her sword and following close behind him. Even though Loghain had seen the gulf between his most loyal lieutenant and himself growing since it first formed at Ostagar, furthered by the acts he'd been forced to commit to try and preserve Ferelden, acts that she and a small part of him knew were aberrations against all he stood for, he still pushed it aside. One day, all would see that what he had done here was necessary, that sometimes hard decisions had to be made for the benefit of all, and he had saved others the hardship of having to make them.

Cauthrien was still loyal to him, of that Loghain was certain. '_After all'_ he thought '_without me, what does she have?'._ She had not flinched from what he had commanded of her so far; nor did he believe she would.

The army he'd brought with him numbered thirteen thousand-Loghain had won harder battles with smaller numbers-, and while the men were not as well trained as Loghain would have liked, they were equipped with the best weapons and armour money could afford, and Loghain hoped that would be sufficient to compensate. The rebels might comprise of more veterans of war, but they were fewer in number and more poorly equipped than his own soldiers.

'_Well of course, their forces are not funded with Tevinter gold obtained by betraying those who stood by you to free Fereldan the last time'_ that voice at the back of his mind sneered, the one that caused him to have second thoughts regarding every decision he'd made. He brushed the voice of his own indecision: he was merely doing his duty, however bitter and unpleasant, and would not shirk from the small sacrifices needed for the greater good.

'_No doubt Meghren thought something of the same' _was the mental retort.

"Is this necessary, my lord?" Cauthrien put forward, causing Loghain to shake off his reverie. "Our forces dwindle with every passing day; perhaps a parley to try and bind our forces together against our common enemy-"

"I gave these fools a chance to surrender with honour and accept my terms, and yet they refuse and call me a tyrant._ I_ who have given up my life to ensure Ferelden will never again suffer what I have seen it suffer! No, if they will not accept the olive branch, they will kneel before the sword". Cauthrien looked unnerved by the venom in her lord's voice, but wisely held her tongue and for that, Loghain was grateful; he needed Cauthrien for her loyalty and her skill at arms, not her conscience pleading with him to be the better man. He could not afford to be magnanimous or patient anymore; Ferelden didn't have the time for it.

"As I have said before, I will not risk facing the darkspawn with men who will turn on me the second my back is turned. Once I have their loyalty, we will turn our attention to the darkspawn, not before. Marauders are a minor threat compared to naked treason". He needed the loyalty of _every_ noble in Ferelden if he was to ensure her safety, and the loyalty of better men than Rendon Howe, Ceorlic and the nest of other ambitious vipers and spineless toadies he had on his side. Ferelden had fallen to the Orlesians because traitorous nobles had looked to their own profits and sold out their homeland instead of uniting together against a common enemy, and Loghain would not let that happen again. Nor would he allow those rebelling against his authority to make _him_ into a common enemy, as they seemed determined to do.

"My lord, the attack is beginning" another runner said, dropping to his knees as he relayed his message and Loghain and Cauthrien retreated into the regent's tent. Considering the number of cavalry he was committing to the attack, Loghain fully expected that the rebels, cowardly lack-witted ingrates that they were, would break and run in full force when they realised what was happening and there would be no need to commit the infantry, but Loghain wished to ensure all was going smoothly with the first strike before he committed more men to the attack.

To that end, accompanying the attackers would be one of the few remaining Circle acolytes he still had in his service- a scrawny, quibbling fellow by the name of Petyr- to relay periodic reports of what was happening, to allow Loghain to determine how well or poorly the attack was proceeding before committing more men to the fight. The sound of horse's hooves and shouted war cries from outside indicated that the cavalry were commencing their attack. Even the minimal number of troops Loghain was committing to this pre-emptive strike, he felt certain, would be sufficient to break the rebel's morale and send them running.

The first sign that something was wrong came when Petyr reported that the sentries were not sounding the alarm, and when a cavalryman had tried to cut down one man, the figure had simply collapsed into nothing, leaving only a thin layer of mist as evidence he'd ever been. Loghain had felt a slight trepidation at this evidence of unnatural magic, but then quashed it and ordered them to continue the attack; they'd heard rumours of apostates working with these rebels, so such cheap conjurations were likely their work.

Then all hell broke loose.

'_Maker's breath, they're everywhere-they were waiting for us! Pike phalanxes, we charged straight into pike phalanxes! Men and horses cut down in droves, it's carnage_!' Loghain heard his mage scream telepathically. Audible through the magical connection were the screams of men and horses, the clash of swords and a strange animalistic chattering he'd heard once before...

'_What are you talking about, fool?'_ Loghain roared back. '_There is no way you could be so caught-offguard! The rebels are supposed to be in their tents, sleeping! You should have had the element of surprise!'_

"_Not rebels, dark-!"_

There came a strangled cry, accompanied by a trio of thuds sounding familiarly like arrows thudding into flesh, and Loghain realised the mage Petyr was dead.

And then he heard it; the beating of leathery wings overhead, followed by a sonorous roar that carried for miles in all directions, inspiring terror and awe in equal measure. Loghain recognised it in an instant.

The hunting cry of a dragon.

He'd heard it once before, just before the Battle of the River Dane. Then, it had been a sound of hope, of inspiration, encouraging the belief that if one of the most majestic of creatures could arise from extinction, then surely a nation could rise up from the shackles of its oppressors.

Now, it bred nothing but fear; the knowledge that in this place, he was facing an ancient and terrible power beyond his comprehension, leading an enemy that he had made the gross mistake of underestimating. Loghain stormed out of his tent just in time to see a dark shadow pass overhead, making straight for the valley.

'_There have been no signs of any dragons in the Wilds...this is no true Blight, Anora; only Cailan's vanity demanded it be such...'_ His own words rang mockingly in his ears, but Loghain barely heard them, his mind consumed by one thought alone...

'_Maker's breath, you were right, Maric. You tried to warn me, you told me about what that witch said, that a Blight would fall upon Ferelden one day. I thought it a lie, thought it impossible...but you were right'_

"Sound the retreat" he commanded as he had done once before, trying to suppress the fear in his voice.

"My lord?" Cauthrien replied, even as the screams of the men being massacred in the valley grew louder. "We can't abandon them again-!"

"I said retreat, damn you! We can't fight _that!_" he roared as the sinuous reptilian form passed over the mouth of the valley, a plume of fire erupting from its fanged maw, trapping his cavalry between the flames and the darkspawn. It was true; they'd been prepared for a ragtag bunch of guerrilla fighters caught in a trap, not for the monster circling over their heads, and judging from the screams he could hear throughout the camp, panic and disarray had already begun to set in at the sight of the leviathan above. The screams of men and horses rang out into the night, just audible over the crackle of flames, the horrific chittering screeches the darkspawn made when they sensed victory and the deafening bellows the dragon continued to make as it and its monstrous minions slaughtered all in their grasp.

"No word of this gets out, do you hear me? I want it said that we inflicted a crushing victory against the rebels! Nobody is to know the truth, do you understand?" Loghain bellowed at his subordinates as he pulled himself into the saddle, turning his horse about and shouting commands for the infantry to withdraw.

'_No one can ever know about this'_ Loghain knew. '_If word of this gets out, that the 'lies' the Grey Wardens told to justify letting Orlesian troops across the border, that after all my proofs, all my assurances, that this __**is**__ a Blight after all, then everything will be undone, no one will ever heed my authority again'_ Loghain desperately tried to suppress the panic. '_Perhaps, perhaps if I make an official announcement, insist that it was my decision to keep word of a Blight quiet to prevent panic, that might be suitable. Perhaps if I force Howe to make the announcements-that wretch has a talent of convincing people to believe whatever he wants them to- it would sound more plausible. Yes, perhaps that would work...?'_

But no answers came, just the screams of the soldiers who'd followed him as he abandoned them to the mercy of the darkspawn for a second time.

#############

"Not quite the homecoming you imagined, eh?" the young Chasind woman asked of him, her Fereldan speech heavily accented.

"No, not at all" Fergus managed to reply, avoiding the piercing gaze of the striking green eyes staring at him. Verona continued to remain close, and Fergus had to admit; the Chasind had been driven out of their home much as he had been, and while he was close to reclaiming his home, who knew if the Chasind would be able to return to theirs, for even if the Blight were ended and the darkspawn pushed back to the Deep Roads, who knew if their corruption and defiling of the Wilds would ever be healed?

He shook off his reverie and remarked "I'm surprised to see you still here", considering that most of the Storm Crows and other Chasind were among the raiding parties scouting the way to their destination. It had been a conscious choice by Bryland to use the Chasind in the vanguard; since the time of the Imperium's rule of Ferelden centuries ago, the Chasind had been masterful raiders, striking at the border. Although those times were long-since ended, the Chasind still periodically made raids for food and supplies in southern Ferelden, mostly little more than cattle-rustling, but Bryland had widely chosen to utilise their skill at approaching enemy settlements undetected and their ambush tactics to good use. His time amongst the Wilders had caused Fergus to conclude that many Fereldan preconceptions about the Chasind as primitive barbarians were quite wrong.

Normally, a Chasind clan was led by its shaman as tradition dictated, but Marika was not much of a leader, spending most of her time and energy devoted to duties as a healer. Her son Pavel had taken the position of clan chieftain temporarily to provide direction and leadership, up until he had lost his life to a hurlock's sword some weeks before, and as such, his son Marek, the most skilled of the surviving warriors had assumed the mantle of leadership for the Storm Crows. The Chasind youth had expected and received unquestioning obedience when they were still in the Wilds, but Fergus' position in the clan had changed, since Marek deferred to his experience in the lands of the north while still commanding his clan in battle. There was also a sense of honour and decency amongst the Wilders, proven by their willingness to take him and his men in, granting them food, safety and treatment; the Chasind's actions had been more commendable and worthy than those of the so-called 'civilised men' of Ferelden he found himself fighting against.

"My grandmother instructed me to keep an eye on you, and I intend to" Verona replied simply. It was true; the girl had been a constant shadow since he'd woken from his fevered coma in Marika's tent, keeping watch over him as his hip and other injuries healed and ensure he didn't reopen his wounds by over-exerting himself. She'd been as good as her word, though a part of Fergus suspected the girl wanted more than to just keep watch on him, considering that she'd spent a great deal nursing Fergus back to health during his fever. Sadly for her, it wouldn't likely ever be; Fergus had no designs in that regard- while Verona and the number of other young, healthy women amongst the remains of their clan were certainly striking, the Chasind had old traditions; while dalliances between the young of both genders were fairly common, after a time, men were expected to pay proper courtship to women within the clan (according to Marika, the inevitability of pregnancy from such dalliances had helped nurture that tradition), conducted only after gaining the approval of a woman's closest male relative, not to mention the payment of a substantial dowry. Traditionally, even staring overlong at a Chasind woman to whom you were not married could be construed as insulting, but Marek had relaxed that stance somewhat, as long as no propositions or overt lechery became apparent.

For his part, Fergus and his superiors had made certain that the Fereldans toed the line and respected the customs of their allies. Two men, a seedy-looking man who had been vague about his past and another whom many suspected to be a spy for Loghain, had already been executed for attempted rape, and the alacrity with which the sentence had been made and carried out had been sufficient to discourage any others from repeating that mistake.

In addition, custom, not to mention all sense forbade him from taking another wife until he had avenged Oriana's death; normally, a marriage to Marek's sister would have been used to cement a Fereldan-Chasind alliance, but even the thought was like rubbing salt in a wound that had barely begun to heal, and one Fergus wasn't sure ever would. Fergus was not sure, even if that wound became less painful as the years went by, provided of course he lived that long, he couldn't honestly say if he would ever take another wife, for fear part of him would forever feel it an insult to Oriana's memory. Such a thing would be unfair to both a potential bride and him.

Fortunately, the sound of horse's hooves interrupted the conversation and Verona slipped away, rejoining her brother and the other Chasind auxiliaries that were still with the main army as a armoured man on horseback rode up to Fergus.

"What news?" he asked.

Captain Alaric, one of the few Highever men to survive the darkspawn ambush, dismounted from his horse and saluted. "Nearly every village and farmstead from here to the city has been abandoned, not to mention picked clean; the people left nothing behind them"

"Makes sense; they'll be fleeing towards the city and the protection it offers, however meagre that is" Fergus replied bitterly, saddened that he was forced to bring war to the city he should be ruling, defending from the horrors of the encroaching conflict.

"Never thought I'd see the day when I'd lift my sword against my own city" Alaric muttered sadly.

"Nor I" Fergus agreed. "But we have no choice. Howe took this city from me, slaughtered my family and made my people his slaves. If the only way to take it back is with the sword, then so be it". Alaric nodded reluctantly before his expression became neutral once more, a soldier addressing his commander.

"Any commands the Arl has for us in the coming battle?"

"No, we'll make camp once we've surrounded the city and the final preparations and strategy for the assault will be decided there. But" and at this point, Fergus's voice dropped to a low whisper and he cast a quick glance around to ensure I'm giving one of my own now, one I want every Highever man-at-arms to obey, one that is not to be disobeyed . When we assault the castle, no quarter is to be asked or given. You will take no prisoners and show no mercy"

"My lord?" Alaric sounded shocked at such a brutal command but Fergus's response was iron, brooking no disobedience.

"No mercy. The scum who hold my castle, who broke into my home, who murdered my family deserve the same measure of mercy they showed their victims..._none_. Make sure that every man from Highever knows and understands I expect this obeyed. Tell them to think of their friends, their families, and all the others who have no doubt suffered at the hands of these vermin, which is precisely what they are to think of Howe's men as; vermin, to be exterminated...and that is what I expect to happen"

There was an awkward pause for a moment, but then Captain Alaric gave a deep sigh and nodded. "Yes, my lord. I swore to obey House Cousland and I shall not forswear that oath now. You have my word, it will be done".

"Good" Fergus replied as Captain Alaric moved away to relay his command, fingering the hilt of his sword.

"_I will pay you back in the same coin you paid my father, Howe. The debt of blood you owe me will be paid in full'_


	2. Chapter 2

_Ok, first things first, my apologies for the fact this has taken longer than I expected to update. My plan is to have this finished by the end of this week so I can return to my main DA story (From the Ashes is long overdue an update!)_

_Again, what happens in the next couple of chapters is highly speculative, since we know next to nothing about what actually happened during the Fereldan Civil War, but I think I've done my best to try and fill in the plot holes that Bioware left that just beg to be filled._

_Thanks to everyone who reads and reviews: special thanks to __**Knight of Holy Light, spectre4hire and **__**Isabeau of Greenlea**____for your reviews (support for this pet project of mine is extremely welcome!)_

_As always, enjoy!_

"Looks like someone wants to talk" Captain Alaric muttered as the party watched the city gates open and a band of mounted individuals rode out towards them, the mid-afternoon sun at their backs. The group who'd ridden forth for the parley comprised of Arl Bryland, Bann Cedric , Fergus (his face hidden behind a full helm, Bryland having insisted that Fergus keep his identity hidden from their enemies as long as possible, lest Rendon Howe get wind of his survival and try to finish the job) and a handful of his men from Highever led by Captain Alaric, handpicked by Fergus to ensure that, should this go ill, there would be no survivors. Fergus had no intention of picking a fight now, not when it serve no purpose other than to satisfy his need for vengeance at a disadvantageous time, but if this parley were to go amiss, he was certain the struggle would go in the rebels' favour. As they waited on horseback at the top of the hill overlooking the city, Fergus scrutinised the only thing of note in the landscape; the great boulder by which they stood waiting, a significant piece of the Cousland family's history as the place where centuries ago, his ancestor Elythea Cousland had negotiated an alliance with King Calenhad himself after her defeat on the battlefield. Fergus very much doubted the preening lordling that sat in the seat usurped from his father-_his _by right- had half the sense the gods gave a gnat to comprehend negotiating a surrender, no doubt certain that his hold over the city was secure, and for that, Fergus was glad.

'_I have no wish to talk to scum such as these, only to kill them'_

"Kill them and lob their heads back over the walls as a warning of what will come if they don't surrender" Bann Cedric, the vengeful son of the late Bann Bronach snarled angrily, his hand clenching the hilt of his sword. "Were this the other way round, were we the defenders, they would show us no such courtesy. Loghain proved that when he killed my father trying to parley at Winter's Breath".

"And you would have us sink to his level?" Leonas Bryland replied sharply.

"You know this is a waste of time" Cedric retorted. "They know we have the advantage in terms of numbers and they know that the city defences aren't going to stop us. _You_ know that, my lord, and yet you waste time with talk"

"That may be so, but while they're talking here, then they won't be noticing our attempts at getting ready to breach the city" Bryland retorted, gesturing to the efforts the rebels had been making in the past two days since they'd arrived and made camp to encircle Highever; digging trenches, cutting down trees to fashion into ladders and siege weapons, making an obvious show for the observers on the city wall. Considering the strategy Bryland had discussed with Fergus, such preparations were not necessary, but they were a suitable distraction, for if the city's meagre defenders were more concerned with the teams of workers building ladders, trebuchets and the like, then they wouldn't notice the real threat to the city's defences that the rebel scouts were securing even now.

The riders were almost in sight, allowing Fergus to scrutinise them closely: four of the party were clearly soldiers, their shields and armour marked with the bear sigil of the Howe family, their faces hidden behind full helms and their hands on their weapons, though one carried a long spear atop which fluttered a plain white banner. The only figure whose face wasn't obscured by a helmet was one Fergus recognised instantly: Thomas Howe had the look of his father, that same narrow mouth, beady black eyes and that mix of smugness and irritation in his expression, like his father believing himself superior to all others and yet certain the world was out to deny him everything. '_I'm sure those features will look even better mounted on a spike above the walls' _Fergus thought bitterly as the approaching riders came to a halt. Thomas Howe urged the roan gelding he was sat atop towards the Arl, his expression meant to be pleasant and ingratiating.

"Arl Bryland, how unfortunate that we should meet in such circumstances. My father has always spoken highly of-"

"Spare me your witless prattle, boy!" Bryland snapped, cutting through the hollow pleasantries. "I did not come here to make idle conversation regarding a man I wish to gut. So say what you have to and I will decide whether to let you return to your usurped city in one piece"

Howe's face flushed darkly-though it could just be from whatever he'd been drinking, Thomas Howe always had been renowned for his propensity for drink- and his attempt at courtesy evaporated. "Fine. Then I am here to insist that you disband immediately, surrender command of this host to myself and remove yourself from my lands"

Bryland snorted. "That will not happen. In case your father never taught you to count, boy, you should see that you are outnumbered and encircled; even if I decide to not to attack, I can simply starve you and your lackeys into submission, assuming of course the people of the city don't rise up from under you. Your position is untenable; you have no hope of victory here. Surrender and save yourself, boy"

Howe gave a disparaging snort that was so akin to his father's, Fergus felt the urge to open his throat. "By all means, make your threats and your posturing, it'll serve you no good. Look around you, this city has never been taken by siege or open battle-"

"Only through the guile and treachery of lesser men" Fergus muttered darkly.

"Who dares to question my father's justified actions to prevent the treasons the Cousland family intended against Ferelden?" Thomas snapped, glaring at Fergus, as if trying to pierce the steel visor covering his face, to identify who'd dared to contradict his claims, but Fergus kept his helm on, contenting himself with merely glaring at his enemy through the eye slit.

"No-one that need concern you, boy" Bryland snapped. The young Howe turned his attention back to the Arl, the familiar sneer returning to the youth's mouth.

"It matters not, nor do your empty threats. By now, the messenger who was dispatched is halfway to Denerim by now, and soon enough, you will wake to find an army of my father's and Teyrn Loghain's at your back, and your pitiful rabble will be crushed between the hammer and the anvil!"

Fergus let out a sigh of relief-evidently Thomas had not discovered the rebels had already intercepted and killed the messenger; there'd be no reinforcements from Denerim anytime soon, especially since thanks to the raids led by Bann Voldric and the other captains they'd despatched, Loghain had been forced to divert his army to assist his allies whose lands were suffering to the rebel depredations, lest he risk them changing sides by refusing to aid them. In addition, the Dalish attacks against Gwaren and the riots and looting occurring in the town as a result of the anger felt by the terynir's people that their ruler was doing nothing about it were finally forcing Loghain to contemplate making a relief mission to try and bring an end to the blockade around his own terynir, lest his inaction make him look even weaker or tyrannical.

"It would appear there is nothing more to say" Bryland snapped. "You have until sunrise tomorrow to surrender the city, yourself and your people into my custody. After that, there will be no quarter"

"We'll see about that" Thomas Howe sneered as he turned his horse around and departed, followed by his fellows, no doubt confident in his belief that Loghain and his father would come riding to his rescue with an army. 'Fool' Fergus thought coldly. '_Take what comfort such notions bring you; they'll not save you from facing the Maker before dawn'_

"Summon a council of war; we must finalise strategy. We attack tonight"

Captain Alaric seemed caught offguard by the Arl's pronouncement; with a look of deep confusion, he replied "My lord, I thought you said-"

"I know what I said, just as I know what I'm telling you now, captain. Do I need to repeat myself?" Arl Bryland retorted, raising an eyebrow. Alaric had the good sense to hold his tongue and nodded resignedly.

"No, my lord"

'_I guess that concludes negotiations'_ Fergus thought archly.

#################

An hour later, the same group of people with whom Leonas Bryland had revealed his plan to retake were clustered around the table in the centre of the Arl's pavilion, an extensively detailed map of the city of Highever sprawled across the table around which all gathered stood around, watching and waiting.

"It is time" said Bryland. "Time for me to tell you our plan of attack. I apologise for not briefing you soon, but a fear of spies among our number kept me, lest our enemies learn of our plan before we were ready to implement it. Now, however, with our assault imminent, I can share with you my intentions. I mean for this city to fall, tonight; the sooner we take it and begin planning to move against Denerim, the sooner Loghain will be dealt with and we can redirect our efforts towards our common enemy in the south"

"What do you intend, my lord?" the grizzled knight, Ser Lawrence asked.

"Teyrn Fergus informs me that there is a tunnel, built as an escape during the days of the Orlesian occupation, that leads directly into the bowels of Castle Cousland. It begins here" Bryland indicated to a point on the map just to the east of the city "a small, abandoned farmstead just outside the city walls. A small group could use that tunnel to enter the castle's defences undetected and open the gates and allow us entry-"

"Small chance they'll have against the entire Howe garrison when we're still outside the city" the Amaranthine sergeant Maverlies interjected.

"Which is what I was about to address" the Arl replied curtly. "As you know for some time, I have been dispatching a good number of elven scouts ahead of our advance, instructed to blend in with the crowds of refugees fleeing our path and seeking shelter within the city and by now, I do not doubt that they have found their way into the Alienage without any attention paid to them. Tonight, at midnight, these elves will cause a... 'diversion' in the eastern part of the city, around the docks and warehouses; looting, arson, rioting, something suitably disruptive and chaotic. With any luck, this will also restart the anti-Howe and anti-regency riots that our reports tell us have been raging, which to my understanding, the city guard only managed to put down a few days ago, and only with the use of excessive brutality and violence; if we give the people a chance to act against their oppressors, they will take it; the Orlesian occupation proved that.

But I digress; whether or not that happens, the confusion provided by our elven distraction will trigger the response I desire. If it were Rendon Howe, then he would simply seal himself in the castle, wait for the turmoil to die down and then exact all manner of brutal reprisals against the city's people. Thomas Howe, however, is another matter altogether: the youth has no grasp of strategy. He will send the bulk of his forces to quell any potential disorder, and as such, his troops will be completely wrong-footed when we take advantage of this chaos to launch our assault"

"And how do you expect to take advantage of this chaos, my lord?" a minor bann at the back of the tent interjected. "The city walls are too well fortified for siege weapons to do enough damage to bring them down in time, and even diminished as it is, the city guard will still be able to muster a sufficient defence of any gate we attempt to breach".

"That is where our new ally comes into use" Fergus cut in, gesturing to the soldier standing to his right, clad in the armour of a Highever city guardsman. They'd encountered the soldier upon their return from the parley, dragged by his arms before them by Verona, Marek and several other Chasind scouts and thrown at their feet.

"We caught this one slipping out of a postern gate from the east wall, trying to save his own skin, most like" Verona sneered, keeping a spear levelled with the man's back.

The man, a soldier in the armour of a city guardsman, had thrown himself at the feet of the Arl and Fergus and began to babble "My lord, please hear me. I know I wear the armour of a Howe lackey, but my loyalty is to House Cousland, I swear it; I fought to the end when Howe's scum attacked, I tried to help Lady Cousland and Teyrn Bryce's younger son to get to safety; I swore to young Arthur Cousland that when the day came to re-take this city from the Howes, I would be the first to take up arms at his side. Like so many of us loyal men that served the Cousland family, we have been pressed into service: Rendon Howe took most of his own men with him to Denerim when he was appointed Arl and Thomas Howe forced conscriptions of many men, thinking to keep us in line with threats to our friends and families. I have been forced to keep the peace for men we despise, but given the chance, half the guard will take up arms against the Howe; we've had quite enough of his threats, his demands, his taxes and his insistence we believe the bullshit his father has been spoon-feeding us about Teyrn Bryce's intended betrayal, when even the most incompetent drunk in the lowest wine-sink in this city could come up with a more believable lie"

Fergus had considered the man's words and found them to be trustworthy. He remembered the man from his father's household guard-Ser Gilmore had called the man an adequate swordsman but loyal beyond measure, the sort of man you'd want at your back in battle- and if the man wanted to prove his loyalty to the Cousland family as he professed, what Fergus and Bryland had suggested he do to prove that loyalty should both prove sufficient and give the rebels the opening they needed.

"Lieutenant Simeon longs for a chance to prove his loyalty and that of his men. As such, I have allowed him to give us a token of good faith...namely that the western gate will be open within an hour of the disorder our elven allies have planned breaks out, and our army will be within" Leonas Bryland finished with a wolfish smile. "As I said before, my friends, one way or another, the city of Highever falls to us tonight..."

##############

**The Highever Alienage, midnight**

The dozen elves who exited from the small house near to the Alienage's entrance quickly made their way out of the walled shanty town on the eastern side of the city with ease- there were no guards, as the young Howe didn't seem to think the elves would cause trouble after his father's brutal measures to try and diminish public disorder, and though the gates to the Alienage were locked as per the evening curfew Teyrn Howe had placed on the elves before his departure for Denerim, it was easy enough for the scouts to pick the lock and slip out.

Normally, the elves wouldn't care whether one shem or another ruled over them, but the Alienage community had prospered under the late Teyrn Bryce; he had repealed many of the outdated and racist laws segregating elves and denying them. His death and that of his family was an injustice that even the Alienage community, as inured to they were to the suffering and woes of shems, found abhorrent. In addition, rumours had reached them of the brutality Arl Howe had displayed towards their kin in the Denerim Alienage- the word 'genocide' was being used a great deal to describe the actions of the 'Butcher of Denerim' from what they'd heard, so any way to strike back at a man who considered the People no higher than rats sat well with them.

The docks were easy enough to gain entrance to-most of the city guards had been assigned to patrol the walls and the meagre groups loping around for signs of smugglers and criminals were easy enough to evade, especially since most were in the pay of such criminals to turn a blind eye, so it was not hard to get past them. The scouts split into four groups of three, the better to cause widespread havoc. The first ones to reach their target was a group of two male elves and a female, breaking into one of the warehouses belonging to an Amaranthine merchant by the name of Albert Redmayne. The two male elves cracked open several of the barrels of whale oil stored inside, liberally dousing the warehouse's contents in the flammable substance before the woman tossed a torch back into the warehouse as she and her comrades fled.

The oil caught light swiftly, and within moments the raging flames engulfed the warehouse in a fiery blaze that swiftly began to spread to the surrounding buildings, the fire hungrily consuming wood and stone. Similar fires were ignited across the area, the light and smoke from the flames illuminating the night sky and sending a clear signal, even if those behind the city walls didn't grasp their meaning.

The battle for Highever had begun.

##############

**Highever's Western Gate, half an hour later**

The captain in charge of the Western gate of the city, a man from Amaranthine by the name of Lucian raced back to his post with his orders; to remain at the gate and defend it against any possible danger. Yet another display of anti-authoritarian anger had reared its ugly head in the form of looting and arson around the city docks, and Teyrn Howe's son was concerned that the rebels might try to take advantage of the discontent to press an attack against the city. To that end, Lord Thomas was dispatching the majority of his garrison to quell the unrest before it got out of hand enough for the enemy outside the walls to try and take advantage.

For the life of him, the man couldn't understand why the people were so determined to undermine the authority of a man who'd been legitimately given the rule of this city. The Couslands were traitors, Teyrn Howe had given adequate proof of that fact to all, and yet. How could such flagrant Orlesian sympathisers accrue such loyalty and devotion from their subjects?

However, as he reached his post, such thoughts were driven out of his head as he was shocked to see movement around the gates; the men he'd been given charge of, all of them conscripted from among the city's men a few weeks ago were working to remove the bars sealing the doors and operating the winch to the portcullis, the iron barrier half-raised by then.

"What's going on here?" the Amaranthine captain demanded of the lieutenant, a Highever man by the name of Simeon who he'd left in charge before heading to the palace to receive his orders.

"Don't worry, captain. It won't affect you" the lieutenant replied as he turned round...and fired a crossbow at the captain's chest. The man fell from his horse with a strangled cry, crash-landing face-first to the floor dying, feeling the bolt digging deeper hearing the creak of wood and the screeching of metal as the western gate began to open, accompanied by the distant thud of horse's hooves and the shouting of war cries...

The rebel vanguard poured into the opened gates of the city with a roared cry of "Justice for the Couslands! Victory for Ferelden!" like water through a drain. The meagre efforts of the few Howe defenders on the wall did little to stymie the tide as first the mounted attackers, and then the infantry surged into the city, and the second fall of Highever to treachery by one of its own began.


	3. Chapter 3

_Ok, it's a little later than I intended, but at long last, this pet project of mine is finished. Thank you once again to everyone who's taken the time to read and appreciate my endeavour to address some of the plot holes Bioware left us regarding the civil war raging at the same time as the Blight._

_As always, thanks to those who have stuck with this, read and reviewed this: special thanks to __**spectre4hire**__, __**KnightofHolyLight**__, __**Isabeau of Greenlea **__and __**Theodur**__ for your great reviews, and thank you for giving this little sliver of my imagination a go._

_Am going to take the rest of the week off from Dragon Age, but within the next week or two, I'll be back to writing my regular story (From the Ashes is long overdue an update, and we are getting to some of my favourites parts, namely the Landsmeet and the final battle), so I hope to see you all enjoying that again!_

_I own nothing: Dragon Age belongs to Bioware._

_As always, enjoy!_

############

The fires continued to burn as the dark of night began to brighten as the horizon began to grow bright with the approach of sunrise and the battle for control of Highever continued to rage on. The army that had poured into the city split into two, each faction with a specific purpose; one force to press on to the castle and seize the young regent, while the second was to keep the city garrison, heavily overstretched, from interfering in the assault on the. At the same time, the rioters who'd been suppressed days before saw an opportunity to vent their fury, their hate and their frustration against their oppressors, living reminders of how the better times under the Couslands had been so brutally ended, and they took it; the city guard were taken completely by surprise as, while trying to hold off the rebel advance, they were set upon by enraged. The city of Highever became a seething cauldron of blood, death and chaos.

The sounds of battle carried even as far as a little abandoned farmhouse outside the city walls, though it was not quite abandoned at the moment, fifteen armed and armoured individuals , men and women, human and elf, sneaking into the farm's barn, sifting through the hay until they found what they'd been sent after; a hatch. Seizing the rim of the wooden hatch, a slim, dark-haired male elf in his mid twenties, clad from head to foot in a set of full-length robes of pale-blue wool, made a few complex gestures with his hands, tracing arcane sigils in mid-air with his fingers for a moment, before stopping, clearly satisfied there were no magical booby traps around the hatch.

"Well, ladies first" Merlin Surana offered courteously to the Chasind warrior woman to his right as he lifted it up, revealing the top rungs of a ladder leading down into darkness. Verona simply rolled her eyes and began to clamber down the ladder into the tunnel. Fergus pulled the full helm back over his head, beginning his own climb down after Marek, Captain Alaric and two of his men. Leonas Bryland had protested when Fergus had proclaimed he intended to lead the party who would infiltrate the castle, insisting that it would be wiser for Fergus to remain in the camp, or join the assault on the city if he insisted on being part of the battle, but Fergus had been adamant; this was his city, and he would not have it handed over to him by the honour guard of a family friend. Besides, he was the only one who knew the location of the tunnel into the castle, and he would not have other men take the risks while he stood by.

He'd chosen his men with care; along with himself, Merlin and Captain Alaric, the rest of the infiltrators comprised of other men from Highever, given their familiarity with the castle, or Chasind raiders, chosen for their skill at overpowering lone guards and the ability to kill silently, skills the Chasind had perfected over years of raiding the Fereldan border. The elf apostate, an escapee from Kinloch Hold during the insanity Uldred had unleashed, the same insanity his brother had put an end to, had wound up in the rebel army based on his abilities as a healer, and he had several other spells that would be of use in this offensive. Fergus had to admit, the elf's very presence made him a tad uneasy, given his education had taught him to be wary of apostates, but his magical abilities were undeniably useful, and the elf showed no signs of being overly willing to turn to blood magic or demonic 'aid' at the earliest opportunity, which set Fergus's mind to ease. _'Plus, if his magic can kill enough of Howe's thugs, he'll be fine by me!' _

The trek through the tunnel was slow, the group taking care to check every step of the tunnel for any traps laid by their enemy- Fergus didn't know if Howe had found out about the escape passage, but he wasn't taking any chances. Though every moment lost was a delay that could potentially see the rebel onslaught defeated, he wasn't risking the success of this venture by being reckless just to save a few seconds. Too much depended on this for them to be careless.

Fortunately the only traps they encountered were a handful of rusted bear traps that were easily disarmed by a rogue in Alaric's command and a couple of magical paralysis glyphs that Merlin dispelled with a magical burst of energy, sneering "Amateurs" at the work of whatever mage Howe had hired to lay the glyphs.

After near to an hour of slowly checking their every step for a potential trap, there was a loud clang and a cry of pain as one of the Chasind walked into something metal. Merlin conjured a sphere of magical flame in his hand, illuminating a steel ladder that ascended.

"We're here" Fergus said, even though it was obvious: he remembered his father showing him every facet and detail of the castle's defences before he had been left in charge as his father's regent during one of Bryce's extended absences at court. He knew where they'd come out, in the castle larder and that knowledge was both welcome and discomforting; welcome because it was unlikely their breach of the castle's defences would be detected, discomforting because it meant they'd have to go a fair distance to reach their target of the gatehouse, at risk of being detected. Fergus could only hope the ongoing rebel attack was sufficiently dramatic for Thomas to have depleted the castle's garrison to a mere skeleton force, which would reduce the risk of discovered by the enemy.

"With your leave, Your Grace, I will take the lead" Captain Alaric interrupted Fergus's musing, but Fergus seized the man's wrist as the captain extended his right hand to grasp the first rung of the ladder.

"No, this is my castle, my home. I will take it back, not have it given to me" Fergus retorted as he began to climb up the ladder, but when he reached the top and tried to push the hatch up, to his shock, it wouldn't budge. '_They know'_ his mind began to panic _'they discovered the tunnel and they knew this might happen, so they've boarded it up! What are we supposed to do now-?_'

"Get clear!" Merlin Surana's voice called out, and Fergus looked down to ask what the elf was about to do, only to shut his mouth and hug the ladder as closely as he could, feeling a draught on his back as a fist-sized lump of magically conjured stone hurtled up into the trap door, smashing it into tinder and leaving a gaping hole above big enough for a man in armour to squeeze through. Fergus clambered up, keeping one ear open for a sign anyone had heard the racket but nothing happened, no armed guards came charging in to slay him and stop the incursion. For a half-moment, Fergus felt a pang of regret; he kept half-hoping that Nan would storm in, grab him by the ear and throw him out of the kitchen with such a tongue-lashing ringing in his ears, like she had whenever she caught him and his little brother as boys trying to steal confectionary from the larder. '_Maker's breath, I never thought I'd miss her sharp tongue and short temper'_.

Opening the pantry door, Fergus saw with a sigh of relief that the kitchen was deserted save for two guardsmen who were clearly drunk, if the near empty bottle of chardonnay was anything to go on. A scattered deck of cards explained it; the wretches clearly hadn't wanted to play diamondback in the barracks and have to keep walking back and forth to replenish their drink supply.

"It's rude to help yourself to other people's property without asking" Fergus snarled in one man's ear, then slit the guard's throat as he began to wake. The man's dying gasps for breath caused his comrade to stir, but Fergus didn't give the man a chance; his blade stabbed out and drove into the guard's left eye, killing him instantly.

As Fergus hung there, standing over the corpse of one man and his sword driven through the skull of the other, he suddenly heard a voice from outside the closed kitchen door and footsteps drawing close.

"Boros? Meryn? Are you in here? You'd better get your arses on the wall or Captain Isaac's gonna have both your hides; those rebel dogs are getting closer-"

The kitchen door swung open and for a moment, the young woman, another guard clad in chainmail with a greatsword on her back, stood there still as a statue, staring at the carnage within. Before the moment could pass, and the guardswoman could either scream for help or draw her weapon, there was a faint whistling sound, and Fergus watched stunned as the woman fell back to the floor dead, a crude throwing knife buried between her eyes. He whirled round to see Verona, her arm extended; thinking quickly, the Chasind warrior seized the dead woman by her ankles and dragged the body over to the hole leading to the tunnel, as two of Alaric's men seized the dead guards and did likewise, dumping the three corpses to ensure no one discovered them too soon.

"Come on, let's go" Fergus commanded; they had no time to waste. He and his men took the lead, guiding the others from the kitchens, past the servant quarters every moment bringing back memories both welcome and heart-rending, remembering faces and names of people whom he would never see again and likely never know what had happened to them- Nan, Aldous, Mother Mallol, the countless servants and guardsmen who hadn't gone with him to Ostagar, to say nothing of his own family- but Fergus pushed them aside, forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand; he could indulge on grief when victory was won.

To his relief and surprise, they encountered no real challenge until the infiltrators came to within sight of the castle gatehouse and it became apparent; they were all on the battlements, watching the rebels drawing nearer, though their preoccupation with the ever-encroaching flames and battle served to distract them from noticing the armed figures sneaking through the shadows to beside the room that held the chains that would raise the castle portcullis. They all kept chancing glances up to the soldiers prowling the walls, though mercifully the defenders were too engrossed on the threat outside the castle to notice the danger within.

"Three guards" one of Alaric's men reported, sneaking a glance around the door and relaying what he had seen, the others keeping watch on the walls for any sign they'd been spotted, though for the moment, the defenders were too busy loosing arrows and stones over the battlements as the rebels drew ever nearer.

"Really?" Merlin scoffed, one hand snaking around the door, making a few gestures and muttering a phrase in Arcanum before there came the distinctive thuds of three bodies falling to the ground. "Sleeping on the job, tsk, tsk" the elf mage tutted, shaking his head mockingly. "Such poor discipline"

"Well, why wake them?" Fergus replied, drawing his sword. "I say we let them sleep...permanently" he remarked as the group stole into the gatehouse.

No one on the wall heard the trio of strangled screams that echoed from the gatehouse room, or the sound of the door being locked and barricaded from the inside. But the rattle and clanking of chains being drawn taut and the shriek of metal as the portcullis began to rise was too loud for even the sounds of battle to cover it up. But others within the city heard it too, and by the time the castle's garrison realised they'd been deceived, it was too late.

###############

The sight of the open castle gates was all the opening the rebel force needed, like a deer showing a lion its underbelly; the rebel cavalry, headed by Bann Cedric, broke off from engaging the crumbling defensive line of the city guard, leaving that to Arl Bryland and made straight for the castle gatehouse. '_We can kill legions of these fools and they'll still fight us. If we take or slay their commanders, then their morale collapses'_ Cedric knew as he urged the grey mare atop which he rode to greater speeds, his bannorn's knights racing behind him, letting loose a howling war cry of "For Ferelden!" as they tore through the city's highborn district, heedless of the meagre numbers of guards that tried to stop them, lances spearing some men while others were knocked underfoot and trampled by the horses, killed or left for the infantry bringing up the rear to finish off , up the slope atop which Castle Cousland sat, the raised portcullis all the invitation they needed, to avenge Winter's Breath, to wreak revenge on the murderers and traitors intent on bringing Ferelden to its knees,

By the time the castle's garrison realised what was happening, it was too late; a meagre defence at the gatehouse by what few forces still remained in the castle to defend it were swept aside by the full weight of Cedric's cavalry charge; Thomas Howe had taken the bait and, trying to crush the revolt brewing in his city, he had chosen the city over the castle, and now they were to pay the price.

The last remnants of the castle's garrison, along with Thomas Howe, had retreated into the main hall and barricaded themselves inside. "Bring up a ram!" Cedric cried out as more troops poured into the courtyard, circling round the hall to cut off escape for those trapped inside or hunt for other holdouts. As more troops poured in through the open gate or over the walls, six men carrying a sharpened wooden log were among them, Cedric directing them to the doors of the great hall. The battering ram broke the wood with its first blow, the second widening the gap and with two more resounding blows, the doors to the great hall were smashed open with an ear-splitting crack, and with a war cry like the howling of bloodthirsty wolves, the rebels surged in. About two dozen Howe guardsmen stood against them; what followed was a savage melee. Fergus saw Bann Cedric behead one foe, then drive his blade into the back of another battling with one of his knights. A Chasind marauder fell with a Howe sword in his chest; Marek split the head of the man responsible in two. Verona ducked under the swing of a Howe guard's axe and drove a knife into the man's back; he cried out in pain, and Verona opened his exposed throat. Watching the carnage unfold with a look of panic on his face was Thomas Howe, clad in armour and holding a sword that he looked to have never wielded before, two of his men standing before him, even though they suspected their cause was lost.

"HOWE!" Fergus roared, ripping off his helm, taking a cruel glee in seeing Thomas's face blanch white with terror at the approach of his would-be executioner, gesturing at Fergus to his men and screaming "Protect me, fools! Kill him!". The two soldiers charged at Fergus with their swords raised; the first man swung at Fergus's head, but the shield that caught the blade knocked it almost from the man's hand. Before the Howe guardsman could recover, Fergus slashed through the man's abdomen with his own sword, sending the man down in a spray of gore. The second soldier trying to defend Thomas died with a strangled cry before Fergus could even reach him, the man's hands clawing at his throat, the crossbow bolt that killed him having pierced his gorget as if it were made of cheese.

At that moment, Thomas Howe panicked and tried to make a break for it, running for one of the side doors out of the hall, but Verona caught sight of it and, hefting a barbed Chasind spear, threw it; Thomas saw the missile coming and tried to dodge away, but by luck or chance, the youth tripped over his own feet and the spear, instead of hitting him in the thigh, took him in the stomach; Howe fell to the floor writhing and screaming, clutching the wooden haft protruding from his gut. Fergus was on him in an instant, kicking Howe's sword away from his hand and twisting the spear in Thomas's chest as he pulled it free.

"Please, Fergus" Thomas desperately pleaded, struggling to get the words out against his terror and pain. "Your family...I had _nothing_ to do with that, I swear!"

"And you so clearly disapproved" Fergus sneered sarcastically, picking up the discarded spear and advancing on the son of his enemy. "After all, it was just...what did you say? Oh yes, 'your father's justified actions to prevent the treasons the Cousland family intended against Ferelden'" Fergus snarled with murder in his eyes, pinning Thomas Howe to the floor with a foot on his chest, lifting the spear for the death blow.

"Please, don't do this!" Thomas cried, tears of agony running down his cheeks as he extended a hand, desperately entreating for mercy. "I'll, I'll give you anything you wish!"

"What I want back, you cannot give me. Blood can only be repaid in blood" Fergus said icily as he pulled the spear back and then lunged, driving it through Thomas Howe's throat, the spearhead erupting out of the back of his neck in a scarlet spurt. The youth thrashed and bucked like a fish out of water, drowning in his own blood for a few moments, until Fergus wrenched the spear free and Thomas fell back to the floor with a final desperate gasp for breath, and then lay still. The sight of their lord's brutal death broke the will of the Howe soldiers to fight on, and as one, they threw down their weapons and surrendered.

"My lord" a man in the armour of a Howe captain came forward, head bowed, eyes fixed on the ground. "We surrender ourselves to your custody and beseech of you mercy. What would you have done with us?

"I _will_ show you mercy..." Fergus said with a smile, though if the man had looked up, he would have seen it didn't reach the teyrn's eyes, still cold and merciless. "...the same mercy you showed my family!" he roared, bringing his sword down on the man's neck. A collective gasp of shock rang out as the man's head rolled across the hall.

"KILL THEM, YOU FOOLS!" Fergus roared at the rebels surrounding him as he beheaded another. "I GAVE YOU YOUR COMMAND, NOW OBEY IT! KILL THEM _ALL!"_

The last portion of the battle was swift and one-sided. Caught offguard by the brutal response to their surrender, many of the Howe guardsmen were slain before they could recover. The few that did manage to recover themselves enough to fight back were outmatched and overwhelmed; the rebels backed them into a corner and, rather than risk their own lives in a melee, fired volleys of arrows and crossbow bolts into them, turning the guards into living pin-cushions. Any who, by some miracle, survived being riddled with arrows were dragged into the courtyard and beheaded. Fergus was swift to order the heads of all mounted above the castle gates. Once that was done, the energies of the rebels had turned from the enemies who'd fought to those who were trying to hide.

Any Howe guardsman in the castle caught trying to hide or flee was, without exception, put to the sword without hesitation or mercy. The servants Fergus allowed to be spared, since they had not fought and he had no proof they were in cahoots with Howe, but he had ordered they be confined to the dungeons for the time being. He recognised none of the elf and human servants his men had taken prisoner-no doubt Howe had brought his own people with him, those who'd served the Couslands likely perishing in the attack or being dismissed, Rendon not taking the chance that one of his servants might try to assassinate him as revenge for their murdered lord and Fergus wasn't about to risk the same thing happening. As they finished rooting out a group of Howe soldiers who'd tried to take refuge in the treasury and dealt with them in the same fashion as the others, a messenger came running to say that Arl Bryland had arrived at the castle with news that most of the city's forces had surrendered and his army were mopping up the last holdouts.

"Maker's breath, what happened here?" Leonas Bryland murmured, astounded at the charnel house that Castle Cousland was once again as he stepped down from his horse and Fergus and Cedric made over to him. Two knights from South Reach flanked him, their swords drawn, looking distastefully as rebel militiamen and Chasind warriors finished off the wounded and dying around them, while a third knight dragged a young woman whose hands were manacled behind his lord by the scruff of her neck.

"Thomas Howe and his garrison chose to fight rather than come quietly. There were no survivors" Fergus proclaimed in a calm, even voice. The suspicious look in Bryland's eyes made it plain he was dubious of this explanation of the massacre, though he said nothing...'for the moment' Fergus knew. The young woman gave a soft sob at the word Thomas was dead, causing Bann Cedric to cast a rather cold eye over her.

"And who is this? I was given to understand the city's people would not be harmed-"

"And they have not been. _This one_, however, is from Amaranthine, not Highever" Bryland retorted and Fergus, for the first time, cast his attention to her; somewhere between Arthur's age and his own, pretty in a certain way with her pale skin and black hair, but as he scrutinised her face, certain features like the nose and the dark eyes became starkly familiar...

"Delilah?" he remarked, astonished before amazement turned to fury, then hate, and finally a cruel glee as he raised the spear in his hand, still dripping with the blood of her brother. "Well, looks like you were serious about sending Rendon his children's heads in a box" and Delilah's face paled at the sight of the spear rising level with her neck.

"I want her alive, for the moment" Bryland interjected. "She had come from Amaranthine- we caught her hiding in a merchant's house in the city's high town; her father may have sent her to meet with her brother. She might have information we can make use of-"

"She'll know nothing" Fergus insisted, cutting across Bryland's proposal with a snort: Rendon Howe viewed woman, his own daughter among them, as goods and chattel to be used. Howe was more likely to have told his whores his plans than his daughter.

"I will be the judge of that" Bryland retorted curtly, and Fergus chose to hold his tongue, sensing the Arl to have little patience with him for the moment after what had happened. "Enough, we can discuss such matters later. For now, the city is ours, but there is much to do if we are to hold it when our enemies come as they inevitably will..."

####################

Fergus left the dungeons at high speed, a handful of Captain Alaric's men marching behind him. The new and rightful Teyrn of Highever was in a spectacularly foul mood, for though the battle was over, one reminder of Rendon Howe's betrayal still lived, despite his best efforts to eradicate it in the dungeons...

_Fergus angrily slammed a fist against the wall. _"WHY, DELILAH? WHY! My father never treated yours with anything but respect and courtesy! When Harper's Ford fell, and every one of my father's bannermen urged him to string your father up beside Tarleton, he waved aside their protests and embraced him as a friend. Your family was always welcome here; my parents never treated you with anything but kindness and respect. So _why_? Why did he see fit to betray a man who thought of him like a brother, probably the only one in Ferelden who thought of your father with anything other than contempt?

"Father...Father was always jealous of your family and over the years, his bitterness, greed and selfish ambition twisted that until it was all he cared about" _Delilah sighed, looking into the face of the man whom her father had probably betrayed the worst, raising a hand manacled and chained to the chair in which she was sat and wiping away a tear. Leonas Bryland was also present, no doubt hoping to interrogate Rendon's daughter on the off-chance she had useful information regarding her father's plans and allies, watching Fergus rage at her for the moment without intervening._

"It all began after your marriage to that Antivan..."

"Oriana" _Fergus corrected her with a snarl_. "My _wife_ had a name, even if you Howes think that one word is beneath you". _Delilah looked like she might say some equally barbed comment in answer, but Fergus's hand moved close to the hilt of his sword and she didn't dare_.

"Father always wanted to marry me into your family; he was obsessed with whatever benefits an alliance by marriage with House Cousland would bring him," _she stated as a matter of fact. It was true; Fergus was well acquainted with Rendon Howe's numerous efforts over the years to fob one of his brood off on Bryce and Eleanor's children_. "The notion was not to my liking; you were several years my elder, Fergus and Arthur...we all knew a match between him and I would be one made in hell, but Father always cared more for his own profits than my happiness..." _she fell silent for a time._

"Continue" _Bryland said curtly._

"When you took her to wife, my father was offended far beyond reason. It did not matter that your parents never offered, never even mentioned such a match, that there were other considerations to your union; to him, it was a personal insult to his honour and that of our House. For hours, he went on about the outrageous slight we had been dealt by the Couslands. But in time, his rage cooled, and he latched on to a new hope: Arthur. For years, he turned down offers for my hand from across the Bannorn, determined to wait until word came from Highever. And then after that...'unpleasant youthful incident' in which it became clear your brother and I couldn't stand each other, your parents seemed disinclined to consider any further notion of a match between our Houses".

_That, at least, was also true; Fergus remembered the last time he'd heard his parents talking about what was to be done about their wild younger son, and he'd heard mention of a possible alliance by marriage with the Bannorn of Waking Sea; the previous Bann had died recently, but his daughter and heir, Lady Alfstanna was said to be a cunning and formidable young woman, more than capable of settling Arthur down..._

"That was, to my mind, the last straw as far as my father was concerned; his wroth with me for what happened was nothing compared to what he had to say about your family; that once again, the Couslands were insulting us once more, denying the Howes what was rightfully ours..."

_Delilah's voice dropped a octave, becoming quiet and fearful, clearly wanting to get it off her chest, but no doubt fearing that retelling her father's sins would see her condemned as well. _

"And then came the darkspawn rising, and the King's call to arms at Ostagar. Father was summoned to gather his men and join his forces to Teyrn Bryce's army. When the command came, Father departed with his men-at-arms as ordered, leaving Thomas and Varel in charge of the Keep, but my suspicions were aroused when a significant numbers of his forces returned far sooner than expected. It transpired that father had taken a portion of his army ahead with him to Highever; the remainder had been instructed to await further orders. When the command came, however, it was for the soldiers to return to barracks in Amaranthine. I did not understand it, but at the time, I thought that the darkspawn had already been defeated and that only a small force was needed to mop up the remnants of the horde"

_Delilah took several deep breaths before continuing, Fergus both wanting to hear the condemnation of Rendon from his daughter's mouth and yet dreading what he would hear_. "And then, the news reached us from Highever, that the castle had been attacked and the Couslands had been slain. Not long after, word came from Denerim of Ostagar and King Cailan's death, and that Loghain had declared himself Regent and the Grey Wardens as traitors. By then I knew there was something very wrong going on, and I feared my father had his hands in it. Soon after, father returned unexpectedly from Denerim. He was in his study most of the day, attending to one matter of business or another that had cropped up in his absence, but late in the afternoon, he summoned me to his chambers. I had no idea what to expect, but much to my astonishment, he was in a better mood than I'd seen him in for years, laughing and smiling.

'Ah, my dear daughter, where have you been?' he welcomed me as I entered, pouring me a dram of the whiskey he was swigging. "Come, join me. A toast to your father, now Arl of Denerim _and_ Teyrn of Highever!'

He was clearly drunk but I didn't dare do other than as I was told. He bade me sit by him and continued to prattle on. 'So, my Delilah, you're a Teyrna-to-be now, and with none of those high and mighty Cousland looking down their noses at us in the process. I promise you, a new age has begun for us Howes, you'll see! Well come on! Aren't you going to congratulate your father, girl, at how he did it? The genius with which he secured our House's future?"

"Did what?' _I asked, torn between shock and horror at the ease with which he spoke of such atrocious acts_.

_There was something in his eyes when he spoke next, a fell gleam that terrified me and it was then I realised the man before me wasn't my father but a monster in his flesh, perverted by his desires_. 'I put a dagger through that trusting fool Bryce's gut before he had a clue what was happening. He died on his knees watching that snooty bitch he married kissing my shoes. Fergus's corpse rots in Ostagar, that mongrel brat of his was burnt on a scrap heap along with that Antivan _whore_ he took for a wife, and as for Arthur… he'll be dead soon enough, if he isn't already. Bryce and Eleanor's _precious_ _pup_ managed to escape thanks to that interfering old doomsayer Duncan at first, only to become a Grey Warden. By now he's likely already dead, some genlock gnawing on his bones amidst the ruins of Ostagar like all those other bloody warmongering Wardens and even if he survived the darkspawn and the Wilds, should he get as far as Lothering, there'll be men waiting to arrest him as a traitor to Ferelden!" Father laughed gleefully.

'Traitor?' I couldn't help but parrot his words, but he was too drunk to notice.

"I presented the most convincing evidence before the Landsmeet that the Couslands were traitors to Ferelden collaborating with the Orlesians, and Loghain arranged that the Wardens appeared to be responsible for the King's death and in cahoots with Celene as well; it was almost too easy!"

He laughed again, but I felt only revulsion at his mirth. "Allying with Teyrn Loghain was a stroke of genius; as you can see from the embarrassment of riches that have fallen upon us, my leal service and loyalty to Ferelden have and continue to be amply rewarded. You mark my words, my dear girl; this is the beginning of a golden age for House Howe!".

He went on like that for a time, boasting about the glorious future soon to be ours, and I just kept nodding at his every word, not trusting myself to speak. In my mind, all I could think of was that my father was a _monster_, and I begged the Maker, as I still do, that when the end comes for him, the children will not suffer for the sins of the father."

_Delilah's voice trailed off and she buried her face in her hands for a time, the ragged sobs coming fast and hard, though Fergus felt no empathy for her, and Leonas Bryland's face could have been hewn from stone, his expression unreadable. After a few moments, Delilah recovered herself, and continued to talk_ "After it became clear Arthur had survived Ostagar, and the measures they'd left in place to mop up any surviving Grey Wardens failed, Father's alliance with Loghain began to become strained. When I next saw him, he was ranting that Loghain was treating him like dirt, and it was clear he was starting to grow paranoid that Loghain might try to move against him, that the Teyrn would try to placate his own enemies by getting rid of Father. "Loghain wouldn't dare move against me" _I remember him saying_ "That jumped-up farmer's boy hasn't got the wit to match me; without me, he has nothing, and I know too much about just how his regime is being propped up for him to just do away with me. Oh yes, he wouldn't dare move against me!"

Still, the seeds of paranoia had been sown in his mind, and Father decided he needed to be closer to court, to be able to keep a close eye on Loghain and anything the regent was planning. He made some arrangement, all but emptied the family's vaults at Vigil's Keep, instructed Thomas to act his regent here until he commanded otherwise, placed another of his cronies in charge of Amaranthine and left with his retainers and nearly all our household for his estate in Denerim. I've heard nothing from him since" Delilah fell silent with a deep breath, as if such statements had taken much of her strength to put to words.

"Thank you, Lady Delilah" _Leonas Bryland replied, his tone not unkind_. "I know it cannot be easy to say such things, particularly of your own family. You have my word, you will be well treated. This war may have cast your family and mine as enemies, but we are not uncivilised..."

"Is that all?" _When Delilah failed to answer as swiftly as he would have liked, Fergus added curtly_ "I'll take that as a yes"

"Why?"

"Because this is _my _terynir, and in my opinion, there's no reason to let you live if you've nothing more useful to tell"

_At that moment, Bryland had interjected, seizing Fergus's forearm and all but dragging him from the cell, leaving a horror-struck Delilah staring at their backs until Bryland slammed the door shut_. "Are you truly suggesting such? To kill her simply for being her father's daughter? Your parents would be _**ashamed**_ of you" _the Arl snapped, his expression thunderous._

"It is a matter of blood-" _Fergus began to protest, but Bryland would not hear it. _

"You can kill as many as you want, you can burn the Howe family tree down to its roots, but it won't bring back your wife and child. Nothing will! Will you sink to Howe's level by repaying one cold-blooded murder with another?"

"She is not the one I want to kill..." _Fergus admitted but Leonas was not finished._

"But you will settle for the children because you cannot slay the father?" _Bryland asked and at that Fergus lost his temper. He was in no way satisfied with Bryland's attempts at rationality-what had he lost to scum like Rendon Howe?- but there was one rational part of his mind that argued the Arl still had a point; the execution of one Howe in the manner Thomas had died was likely to draw outrage and support to Howe's cause and that of his master, and killing Delilah would likely only do more damage. Moreover, Fergus had to admit despite his bitterness at such remarks, Bryland was right; killing an unarmed woman for the crime of association was something his father would never countenance if he were alive. Reluctantly, Fergus reined in his bloodlust, his anger and his hate and forced himself to put aside his urge to destroy Rendon Howe and every last one of his progeny, to put duty first as his father would have done._

"Fine, keep her alive if you think she has uses, but mark my words, Leonas, if the day ever comes when she poses a threat, or seeks to undermine me or my rule, Delilah will die, without trial or representation. Her word means _nothing_ to me: I hold her life hostage to her good behaviour". _Bryland looked satisfied at the compromise but Fergus had stormed away, wanting distance from him, Delilah and every reminder of what her treacherous bastard of a father had taken from him._

"You can take it from there. I've had my fill of Howes" he'd snarled as he'd taken as his leave of the Arl and the dungeons. _'Now and forever. And that is a feeling I shall ensure Ferelden shares, until it has been wiped from memory...just like a certain family. Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow...but he is wrong. I will not forgive. And I will certainly not forget'_.

"My lord, are you alright?" a voice interjected; Fergus whirled round to see Lieutenant Simeon, one of the men whose actions in the battle had been a chief contribution in their victory. Fergus was surprised to see the man here; it had been his understanding that Bryland had tasked the city watch with repairing Highever's defences in preparation for the inevitable counterattack once Loghain learned one of the two terynirs of Ferelden was no longer under his control.

"I'm fine, but I thank you for your concern. What brings you to me?"

"I have one more favour to grant you, my lord. Would you accompany me into the city so that I might show something which I believe is something you wish to do greatly?"

"Which would be?" Fergus asked, intrigued despite his earlier foul mood.

"The chance to say a last goodbye"

* * *

><p><em>Story Note: Credit to Ygrain33, who came up with the notion of confronting Delilah first. I don't own such a notion, I merely borrowed it.<em>


	4. Chapter 4

Lieutenant Simeon led Fergus away from the castle, down towards the city. Fergus had little fear for his safety, the fighting to take Highever all but over, reduced to little more than a few meagre pockets of resistance holding out, choosing to die rather than yield. With the taking of the castle, the meagre resistance of the city guard had collapsed, and they'd surrendered themselves to the mercy of Arl Bryland. Though word of Thomas Howe's death and the slaughter of the castle's garrison had managed to get out, and was no doubt the cause of the remaining holdouts choosing to fight to the end rather than come quietly, for the most part, the city's defenders had given themselves over. Doubtless, a fair number would be executed for their part in the murders of the Couslands and their household, or for their part in the brutal 'pacification' of the city Howe had enacted after his slaughter at the castle, if the reports coming to Fergus's ears from the civilians were true, but for the moment, the Arl was content to merely imprison Howe's men-at-arms for the moment.

Simeon led Fergus to a small, non-descript house in the relatively unharmed eastern half of the city's low town, the fires the elven scouts had started in the nearby docks having burned out or been extinguished, removing a key from a pouch at his belt and opening the house's door, allowing his lord to enter the single room of the building. The moment both men stepped inside, the room's only other occupant- a woman wearing a cowled black robe that hid her face- leapt to her feet, pulling a dagger from her belt, about to lunge, when she recognised Simeon and lowered her blade.

"Peace, Mother" the lieutenant replied with a smile. "I've brought along an old friend"

"Mother?" Fergus repeated, "Not-?" but his question was answered for him as the woman pulled back the cowl covering her head to reveal her identity. She looked to have aged ten years in the time since he'd seen her last; there were lines around her eyes, which had acquired a far more solemn, hard look and her black hair had acquired a fair few white streaks that made Fergus wonder what she'd seen and had to endure in the time he'd been gone, but there was no mistaking her.

"Mother Mallol!" Fergus cried, jubilant to see a familiar face from his past as he pulled the woman into a bear hug. "I never thought I'd see you alive again! How did you-?"

"Survive?" she replied bitterly, sinking back into a chair and Fergus did the same. "I'd have called it the 'will of the Maker' once, but my faith has been tested severely by what I've seen over these last few months. No, my survival was most likely to sheer luck; I was performing a last service when four of Howe's men burst in to the chapel, armed and spattered in blood; I don't want to think on Howe. I was certain that it was my death until one fell with a crossbow bolt in his back and that Grey Warden your father had been entertaining as a guest was revealed standing in the doorway, a crossbow in one hand and your father laid on one of the pews near the door. Two of Howe's men tried to charge him-the Warden had his sword out before they took two steps, gutting one and opening the throat of the other. The last fell to his knees and begged for mercy, trying to use that old excuse that he was just following orders; that Warden just spat in the wretch's face, told him to see if such an excuse worked with the Maker better than it did him, then took the man's head off".

Fergus grinned savagely; he well remembered the scum Rendon Howe had brought with him to Highever, ostensibly to march to Ostagar with Father that morning, cutthroat thugs all. If the fools thought they could best a Grey Warden, they were certainly more stupid than they'd looked; a man like Duncan didn't rise to the rank of commander without having substantial skill at arms, among other things.

"I ended up supporting your father, along with a number of other guards and servants we found still alive as the Grey Warden led us to the kitchens and the tunnel out. I would have stayed and tended to your father for he was sorely wounded, but he insisted I put my safety above his and that I leave; the last I saw of Teyrn Bryce was him begging that Grey Warden to go back and try to find your mother and brother.

"And after that?" Fergus pressed.

"I wanted to escape Highever, but I dared not try, especially not since Howe had locked down the city, trying to root out any survivors that had escaped his purge of the castle. We managed to sneak back in just before the lockdown with a handful of elven servants who wished to get back to their families in the Alienage; Simeon offered me a place in his home and I, having no better option, gratefully accepted. I did not dare go back to the Chantry; I didn't think anyone would believe me for one, and for another, if I were to reveal my survival and what I had seen, Howe's men would have had my head on a spike over the city gates in an hour; it was not until after the Arl had departed for Denerim that I felt safe to even leave this place"

Her mention of Howe's brutality forced Fergus to ask his next question, both needing to know and yet dreading the answer.

"My family...what become of-?"

"Howe's scum dumped them on a trash heap outside the city walls for the wolves and crows to pick over. We heard talk later that Howe changed his mind, that he wanted to mount your lord father's head on a spike as befitted a 'traitor and Orlesian sympathiser'" Mother Mallol spat, the contempt in her voice palpable, before continuing "But he never got the chance. Simeon and a number of those who managed to escape the castle stole the bodies- they risked their lives to do so, but Teyrn Bryce was a good man, and he deserved better than to be left as carrion for the scavengers. We carried them to the forest in the dead of night and I performed a funerary service there. Your lord father, your lady mother and wife, not to mention your son did not deserve such ignominy and so we made sure they were sent to the Maker with all the proper rites and respect. Howe was livid when he found out the bodies had been stolen; he offered bribes, made threats, swore to execute anyone he thought was remotely connected to it, tried to get the Chantry to offer absolution should the guilty come forward-"

"The Chantry?" Fergus asked, confusion overcoming his intended response of gratitude that these people had risked their lives to bravely give his family the last rites that bastard would have denied them.

"Initially, they were very much against Howe, condemning him for committing such brutal murders without cause or provocation, but after he presented his' irrefutable evidence of House Cousland's treachery' and made several substantial 'tithes' to the Chantry, they were quick to give their support to the 'rightfully appointed new Teyrn of Highever" Mallol spat, the contempt and fury at her former companions in the Chantry even deeper than that for Howe.

"Well, I hope they've enjoyed their bribes, because it has brought them a one-way road to the headsman's block!" Fergus muttered under his breath, before Mother Mallol got to her feet and motioned for Fergus to follow her, leading him through a small door at the rear of the room that led down to the tenement building's basement. For a moment, he was uncertain why she had led him here, but when he saw four marble urns placed in a shadowy alcove to one corner of the cellar, he realised; they had paid their last respects, but they wanted him to be able to pay his.

"May I have a moment alone?" Fergus requested, and Mother Mallol granted it with an inclined head and a murmured "Of course"

Fergus had no idea how long he remained down there with the dead, raging, weeping, cursing the cruel twist of fate that had taken everything from him that he'd held dear; his parents, the people who'd brought him into this world, who'd brought him up, taught him duty, right and wrong. His beloved wife, the mother of his child, the woman whom he'd taken in wedlock, sworn before the Maker to love and care for, protect and honour. His son, the boy he had cherished- more than anything, it made Fergus's heart ache that he would never see Oren grow up, never see his boy learn to use a sword or become a squire, compete in a tourney, marry and have children of his own, never present his parents with their first grandchild. His grief fought strongly with his hatred in his chest, grief for what had been taken from him so unfairly, and hatred for the wretch who had taken it.

"Thank you for everything you have done for my family, but there is one last thing I must ask of you. My father would want to rest in the family crypts beneath Castle Cousland, along with his family and all those of his House who have gone before him. May I ask that you bring the...my family to the crypts, that they may rest in peace as is their right?"

"I will, my lord" Mother Mallol promised, heading down to the cellar to retrieve the funerary urns and Fergus left the house, followed by Lieutenant Simeon. He was grateful for all those he had left behind had done for the sake of his family, to undermine the humiliations that Rendon Howe, not content with stealing everything from a man it seemed he had hated all along, would have inflicted and though he longed to stay, he could not. His family might be gone, but they would be waiting for him one day, and for now, he needed to focus. He had managed to keep his grief from drowning him during his time in the Wilds; much as he would like to, he couldn't succumb now; too much still rested on his shoulders to give in to despair.

"We will be together again, my love" Fergus promised his wife's soul, hoping that wherever Oriana was now-hopefully at the Maker's side as a gentle soul as she deserved- she would hear him and understand. "Soon, but not yet. There are things here yet that I must do"

####################

"Your Grace, Arl Bryland requests your presence"

Fergus looked up from his work-another attainder of treason he'd been writing against most of the members of the Highever Chantry, Mother Mallol's damning evidence having much to say on the alacrity with which they had authenticated Howe's claims of his father's planned treason. Highever's Revered Mother was at present in a cell below the castle, arrested on charges of bribery, corruption and treason, along with many other high-ranking city officials, officers of the city guard and numerous others whose arrests Fergus had spent much of the morning and afternoon organising. Despite his earlier vehement statement, Fergus was leery of simply executing the woman-there would no doubt be severe repercussions if the rebels were found to have killed a senior member of the Chantry- he was determined that the devious old cow and her lackeys weren't going to get away for selling him and his family out for the price of a purse of blood money from that viper Howe. The old bat had tried to appeal to Fergus, reminding him that she'd been the one to dedicate his brother and his son to the Maker, but her pleas had thus far fallen on deaf ears.

The elf led Fergus from his father's study-the lower levels of the castle were the furthest Fergus had been able to face, and he only worked within, preferring to rest in the rebel camp or one of the taverns not destroyed in the battle, unable to face a night among the rooms where his wife and son had died- to the castle's main hall, where Bryland was waiting, a sheaf of parchment lying on a table beside him.

"A bird just arrived, carrying a message"

"From Denerim?" Fergus questioned, confused. The herald they'd dispatched to throw Thomas Howe's head at the feet of his father and proclaim news of the rebel victory to the common folk of the capital had only left that morning; there was no way the rider could have reached Denerim with such speed.

"No, from Redcliffe. And based on what it says, we may hold onto our prize a bit longer" Bryland continued, a rare smile crossing the man's lips.

"What are you talking about?" Fergus asked, intrigued now. Redcliffe had stayed out of the rebellion openly thus far. Of course, its inactivity was likely due in part to the 'illness' that had stricken down its Arl for a time, but there had been word Eamon and Teagan Guerrin were gathering troops and weapons, fortifying Redcliffe Castle and their other holdings...

"Eamon has called for a Landsmeet" Leonas explained gleefully. "By tradition, all hostilities must cease until such matters are resolved, so Howe and Loghain cannot move to attack us here until the debate ends and all disputes that the Landsmeet has been called to address are resolved"

"A Landsmeet, now?"

"To address the rampant tyranny of Loghain Mac Tir's regency, and to decide the matter of King Cailan's succession" Bryland quoted from the letter.

"And who does Eamon have in mind to succeed Cailan? The man's a good politician and he holds a fair amount of respect, but he's getting old, and he's got no heir, if the rumours about his son being a mage are true...maybe his brother?" Fergus suggested. He remembered Bann Teagan; a good man, impulsive and headstrong at times, but perhaps with his brother's counsel and direction...

"Not Eamon's brother, Cailan's" Bryland's reply cut across Fergus's musing. "Apparently, the other Grey Warden traipsing around Ferelden with your brother is a bastard son of Maric. Eamon writes in request that all true men of Ferelden should come to Redcliffe and pledge their loyalty to the rightful heir to the throne of Ferelden, as both Houses Guerrin and Cousland have already done, that the vow to stand with the true king against the usurper who currently holds the throne"

Fergus nodded silently, taking in this turn of events and mulling over it in his head. If this bastard son of Maric's was the genuine article, and not some pretender Eamon was putting forward to try and claw his way back into power at court, then the mere fact he was of the Theirin bloodline and in possession of Eamon's guidance and backing would likely win him a fair amount of support from a good number of the nobility, not to mention those like Banns Cedric and Voldric who'd flock to the youth's banner because they'd had enough of Loghain's tyranny and brutality.

"So what do you intend to do?"

"I will go to Redcliffe and see this would-be king; I would know if there are any truth to these claims, or if it is simply a ploy by Eamon to claw his way back into power at court. I will not dethrone one puppet monarch dancing to the tune of a tyrant, only to place another in their stead. I do not deny Loghain must be removed, but I would see whether this...Alistair" the Arl checked the letter to acquire the name "seems a fitter monarch than Anora before pledging my support. I shall assemble an honour guard and journey to Redcliffe..."

"I will do likewise-" Fergus began, but the arl cut him off.

"No" Bryland replied flatly. "Judging by what Eamon writes in his letter, your brother will be there as well, to pledge his fealty to this would-be king..."

"Then I should be there too. I am the Teyrn of Highever, the eldest son of House Cousland; by rights, the decision of giving my House's support to this royal candidate rests is mine to make. Arthur has to know..."

"That you're alive?" Leonas retorted. "As we discussed before, your brother's safety, not to mention your own, was assured by the fact he didn't know you're still alive. I do not doubt that despite Eamon's best efforts, there will likely be agents of Loghain at this, trying to gauge what threat this bastard of Maric's poses to their master and to try and silence him. If they discover that the sons of Bryce Cousland, one of whom has retaken his father's seat and killed the son of one of his staunchest allies, are to be there as well, Loghain and Howe may decide to finish the job..."

Much as he wanted to dispute this, he couldn't deny the truth of Bryland's assertions. Considering the lengths to which Howe and Loghain had gone to annihilate the Grey Wardens, and when word of this debacle for their cause got to them, if they learned both Couslands would be present at Redcliffe in addition to this would-be claimant to the throne, it would no doubt be too tempting a target for them to pass up.

"I will try to pass word to your brother of your survival and I will provide him whatever support I can" Bryland promised "but you are needed to put your city back in order and fortify it; should the Landsmeet go ill for Eamon and this son of Maric's, I do not doubt that Highever will be where the first place Loghain's wrath will fall upon"

Fergus nodded, barely heeding the arl's prediction, a more dire thought in its place; if Loghain won the coming Landsmeet, it would be the end of Ferelden. Even if the civil war didn't pick up from where it had left off immediately, what meagre remnants of the armies that had fought in that bitter conflict would be swept aside by the Blight. Loghain and the Bannorn had already done most of the darkspawn's work for them; all the horde would need to do would be to mop up what remained of Ferelden's defenders.

'_There are things yet that I must do'_ Fergus had said and it was right: as his father was fond of saying 'Our family always does its duty first' and his duty at that very moment was to his brother and to his homeland. His duty to Ferelden demanded that he cast down the traitors who had murdered his family, destroyed his home and brought his land to the brink of ruin and his duty to his brother demanded that he assist Arthur, both against the Blight in his capacity as a Grey Warden, and against their common enemies as noble sons of Ferelden.

'_I will do as Bryland asks, I will not go to Redcliffe, but he will not stop me from going to Denerim, from finding my brother and aiding him. I have lost too much I love to one traitor's blade; I will not see my brother defeated and sentenced to die under a headsman's axe as Loghain invariably intends should he win the Landsmeet. No, I will fight to right that which has been wronged, to bring an end to the tyranny and cruelty Loghain had ushered in, his actions that stand as an insult to everything he, Maric, my father and so many others fought and died for, and to see justice done, both for my family, and for this nation'._

'_I will not be the only one left'_


End file.
